Chapter 7 7

The library of Haley Manor was a fortress of solitude against the howling wind outside. Benedict moved to the tea cart, his movements fluid and precise. He poured a cup of Earl Grey, no sugar, just the way Jessye had taken it since she was twelve.

"Here," he said, handing her the delicate china cup.

Jessye took it, the warmth seeping into her cold fingers. "You shouldn't involve yourself in this, Benedict. Adam is vindictive. He'll come after your bank if he thinks you're helping me."

Benedict laughed, a low, dark sound. He leaned against the heavy oak desk, crossing his ankles. "Let him try. Payne Corp is a sailboat. The Quinn Family Trust is the ocean. He doesn't have the clearance to even step into the lobby of my building."

The arrogance would have been off-putting from anyone else. From Benedict, it was just a statement of fact.

His eyes dropped to her wrist again. He noticed a bruise, a faint purple mark from hauling her heavy suitcase down the penthouse stairs alone.

His expression darkened. He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a small tin of herbal salve-an old Haley family recipe for bruises.

"Give me your hand," he commanded gently.

Jessye hesitated. "It's nothing."

"Jessye."

She extended her arm. Benedict dipped his fingers into the salve. His touch was electric, cool against her inflamed skin. He massaged the ointment in circular motions, his focus absolute.

"I hated him," Benedict said quietly, not looking up. "For three years, I hated him. Not because he married you. But because he didn't see you. He had a diamond and treated it like glass."

Jessye's breath hitched. She watched his long fingers work. It was an intimacy she hadn't experienced in her marriage. Adam touched her with expectation or ownership. Benedict touched her with reverence.

"I chose him," Jessye whispered, the guilt rising. "I wanted a normal life. I wanted to escape the pressure of the labs, the legacy. I thought... I thought being a wife would be peaceful."

"And was it?" Benedict looked up, his eyes piercing.

"It was lonely," she admitted.

Benedict capped the tin. "You're not alone anymore. The Haley and Quinn families have been allies for a century. That doesn't end because of a signature on a marriage license."

He straightened up. "Go rest. The guest suite is ready. You have a war to fight tomorrow."

In the penthouse, Adam was fighting a war against his own closet.

"Where are the damn cufflinks?" he shouted, throwing a silk tie onto the floor.

The walk-in closet was a disaster zone. Usually, his outfit for the next day was laid out on the valet stand: pressed shirt, matching tie, polished shoes, cufflinks chosen to match his watch.

Today, the stand was empty.

Adam rummaged through the drawers. He found unmatched socks. He found shirts that were wrinkled. He felt a rising panic. It wasn't just about the clothes. It was the sudden realization of his own incompetence.

He yanked open the bottom drawer, looking for a shoehorn. Instead, he found a black Moleskine notebook.

He frowned. He didn't keep a diary.

He opened it. It was Jessye's handwriting. Neat, small, scientific.

Page 1: Adam's Morning Protocol.

Coffee: 60% Arabica, 40% Robusta. Add 200mg L-Theanine for focus. Grind setting: Fine.

Vitamin stack: D3, Magnesium, Zinc. Place by car keys or he will forget.

Adam turned the page.

Page 15: Eleanor.

Tea temp: 85 degrees exactly. If too hot, she complains. If too cold, she sulks.

Compliment her hair on Tuesdays (salon day).

Page 32: Joshua.

Night terrors: Usually happen at 2 AM. Do not wake him. Rub his back and hum 'Twinkle Twinkle'.

Allergy: Black pepper, pollen (Lilies!!), dust mites.

Favorite comfort food: Mac and cheese with exactly three drops of truffle oil.

Adam stared at the pages. It went on and on. Hundreds of entries. It was a manual. An operating system for his life. She had documented every whim, every weakness, every preference of the people who treated her like furniture.

She hadn't just lived there. She had curated their existence.

His hand trembled. A lump formed in his throat. He sat down on the floor, surrounded by his expensive, wrinkled suits.

His phone buzzed on the floor. A FaceTime request from Karly.

He accepted it. Karly's face filled the screen. She was holding up two dresses.

"Red or gold, baby?" she chirped. "I want to make a splash tomorrow. We need to look like the future of biotech."

Adam looked at her. He saw the shallowness in her eyes. She didn't know his vitamin stack. She didn't know Josh's night terror schedule. She brought lilies to an asthmatic child.

"I don't care," Adam said, his voice hoarse.

"Excuse me?" Karly pouted. "Adam, you need to snap out of this. So she left. Big deal. We're going to the Summit. We're going to announce the renewal."

"There is no renewal, Karly!" Adam snapped. "She revoked the license. We have nothing to announce except a lawsuit."

Karly lowered the dresses. "What? Then why are we going?"

"Because I have to find her," Adam said. He looked at the notebook in his lap. "I have to get her back."

"To sign the papers?"

Adam didn't answer. He hung up.

He closed the notebook. He felt a strange sensation in his chest. Regret? No, Adam Payne didn't do regret. It was... loss. He had lost his engine.

Back at the Manor, Jessye lay in the guest bed. The sheets were Egyptian cotton, smelling of lavender.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. A secure text from Claire.

Claire: Adam's PI is pinging the Manor's firewall. He's tracing the IP.

Jessye picked up the phone. She typed a reply.

Jessye: Let him through. Lower the firewall for ten seconds.

Claire: Are you sure? He'll come.

Jessye: Let him come. He needs to see what he threw away.

She put the phone down and turned off the lamp. Outside, the ocean roared against the cliffs. For the first time in three years, she slept without waking up at 2 AM to check if Adam needed water.